And then he’s gone.
Fuck.
The idea that Juliet was afraid of me, when all this time I was afraid of measuring up to her has a hard time sinking in. I’m not even sure I believe it. Juliet was perfect. I’d never heard anyone say a bad thing about her, never saw her look or act less than anything beautiful. If she was suffering underneath it all because of the expectations my mother put on her, she never, ever showed it. If anything, those expectations were then handed down to me because my mother told the whole entire world how much she loved Juliet. Hell, she told her how much she loved her. I heard it, all the time, and I remembered it because it never sounded the same when it was directed to me.
I know I sound like the long-suffering youngest child, I know it’s a part that’s far too easy for me to sink into. But it’s been a part of who I am since the moment I was born. That moment I was forever measured against what I could become. I was never taken as I am.
And yet here is Logan telling me everything I’ve always craved to hear and I’m not even sure he knows what he’s saying. Juliet was his wife and in some ways, maybe every way, he’s breaking her confidence by telling me these things.
Or maybe it’s the kind of things I should have always known. Maybe the pedestal I put her on was always a little too high.
Logan is gone longer than I anticipated. With my phone completely destroyed by the water I have no way of knowing how much time has passed. The clouds are still coming from behind us, obscuring the sun, leaving a grey and shadow-less void over the jungle. I can hear the faint chatter of the other hikers far in the distance, a familiar sound that reminds me that I’m not completely alone out here. If things get weird between Logan and I, I can always head down to their camp and join them.
And aside from the sounds of the violent surf and the steady roar of the stream, I can hear birds singing, along with the occasional crow of a rooster. Even in the heart of the jungle, the damn chickens are everywhere.
I also hear what sounds like a mew. I turn my head to see a cat poke it’s face out of a bush. It’s grey and white, scrawny but not starving, with large dark eyes.
“Hey,” I cry out softly, sticking out my hand and making the motion for him to come forward. “Come say hi.”
The cat doesn’t move, just eyes me curiously. Quickly and quietly, trying not to scare it, I lean over and pick up the packet of beef jerky and fish out a piece, holding it out.
The cat starts to approach then jumps and scurries back into the bushes.
Seconds later, Logan appears, branches in his arms. He eyes where the cat disappeared and looks at me, the lines in his forehead deepening. “And I thought you weren’t a cat person.”
Ah, the other thing discussed at Christmas.
“Ha ha,” I tell him. “The poor thing is all the way out here by itself.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about the cat,” Logan says, stooping down to put the branches by the fire. “There are a bunch of feral ones out here. And they aren’t suffering. A forest full of chickens like this? It’s fucking KFC.”
“Kauai Fried Chicken?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Something like that. Here, we’ll let the fire dry these branches out before we use them later.” He sits down beside me and nudges me in the shoulder. “And since you were so eager to give the cat our rations, how about you share some with me? Or is it reserved for animals only?”
I look him over, pretending to inspect him. “That wouldn’t be far off,” I say warily. “You seem more like a bear than anything else.”
“A bear?”
“Something large, dark, and hairy, anyway.”
“Is that so?”
I shrug and hand him the packet. “But I can share all the same.”
He takes it from me and for one beautiful, terrible second, our fingers brush against each other. It’s like a lightning rod placed straight to my heart. But if the touch meant anything to him, he doesn’t show it. Like usual, it’s all in my head.
Forget your head, I remind myself, it’s your whole damn body.
“Is that your nickname for me?” he asks, opening the packet and tearing into a piece. “The bear?”
“Nah,” I tell him. “I actually don’t have a nickname for you. Except habut, but every time I hear it, I think of booty.”
“If it’s my booty, I don’t see the problem.”
“This is the second time today you’ve referenced your ass.”
“It’s a good one, why ignore it?”
I pause, smiling to myself. “You’re more like…Gruff.”
“Gruff?”